The Hunger Gays
by TeamGale
Summary: This is "The Hunger Games" but a story of Peeta and Gale,names will change and there'll be original characters. Gale and Peeta go to the arena and become the two victors like Katniss and Peeta,but there'll be challenges.Read to find out.
1. Chapter 1

**Hey, if you're reading this, well, thanks. Umm... I am adding a new character to this story, im not telling you but it'll be like Rue to Katniss, it's going to be Peeta's ally and I need a weapon for her. Please if you leave a review, please tell me a weapon you'd like for her. Thank you.**

When I wake up, the sound of my mom calling me comes from my left ear. My hands stretch out and cover my ears, stopping me from hearing my mom yelling. The bakery must be full for her to be like that, and I can hear the people downstairs.

I prop on one elbow. The light sneaks in through the windows. I can see my whole room. I can also see my dad folded my clothes and my apron.

I jump out of my side of the bed and walk towards the other where the clothes are folded. I grab the shirt, light blue and dark blue jeans. I grab the apron and clean the white pin on the left top side corner, with Peeta, my name.

I put the apron on and run down stairs to the bakery. It was full, both my father and my mom were very busy and the bakery was busy as well.

"Morning sleepy head" my dad says smiling

"Morning dad" I pad his back

I look at my mom, knowing she's going to tell me something for waking up late. I can tell she's mad by her expression even though she's sideways. I don't say anything to her unless she talks to me when she's mad.

I take the orders and place them in a wire with a building stick next to the other 20.

My mom grabs me from the wrist and takes me to the back of the bakery where the bread is prepared.

"Why the hell were you so late" she argues "how many times am I going to tell you that even though you go to sleep late you need to wake up early for work"

"Mom I-" I begin

"No excuses young man" she's still angry "You are going to stay here and make the bread"

She leaves and slams the door.

I see some bread dough on the stainless steel table in a metal tray, there are two trays and each has two breads.

Breads are the least thing people because is the most expensive because is made out of fine flour. Cakes are not, cakes have the cheapest flour and about a fourth of it is grain, but still people love them, after all we are the only bakery there is in District 12.

District 12 is the poorest district after District 13. District 13 doesn't exist anymore; it was destroyed by a mine explosion here on District 12 six years ago. Which I think it was planned by the Capitol. The whole District blew to bits and along with it the habitants. Nothing happened to our District.

I grab the trays and put them in the oven and set it to 350 and turn the light on.

I look to the window on my right and I see a boy under a tree about fifteen yards away. I've seen him in school many times, in fact we spoke once but I thought he remembers. It was a few days later the mine explosion. His dad was in the mine explosion, his mother was devastated she quit her job as a doctor; it may seem that she lost a big job being a doctor, but here in District 12 it's nothing. He's also had to take care of his two brothers and sister. He's had to feed them since then, he goes hunting with his best friend Katniss Everdeen. They could be siblings. Straight black hair, olive skin, they even have the exact same gray eyes. But I don't think their related, at least not closely. Most of the families who work the mines resemble one another.

Katniss's mother used to work as an apothecary in the nicer part of the District 12. She must have really loved him to move from there to the Seam, the Seam is what we walk the poorest side of District 12. At least that's what I've heard of the story.

They go hunting every day. I see them when they come out and go into the woods; they always meet where he is, it looks like he's waiting for her. Some people must know they go hunting but they don't tell because they know what happened to their father's and know that they're doing it for a living.

Even though trespassing in the woods is illegal and poaching carries the severest of penalties, more people would risk it if they had weapons. But most are not brave enough to risk them by entering with just a knife.

If my father was a hunter and built bow and arrows he'd be practically wealthy, you can tell my dad is good using his hands by the way he makes the bread, cookies and etc. Once he taught me to build a trap, with just sticks, to catch a squirrel. My dad used to go on about him dying and he didn't want us to die of hunger and loose our business because he wasn't here.

Most Peacekeepers pretend they don't see people going in the woods to hunt because they're as hungry for fresh meat as anyone who risk's their skin to go hunt.

In autumn some brave people sneak into the woods to reap some apples. But they always keep an eye on the Meadow. They are always close to run back to District 12 just in case something happens. I would know because I've seen them, and they don't go too far.

Once in school I heard them say something about trading in the HOB. The HOB is actually 'The Black Market'; people trade things for food. I don't see the point because if I'd catch a squirrel or a rabbit I won't trade it for bread or oil, but is not my business.

About a month after his father died he was passing by and fell it must've been of hunger, he didn't have a source of food only the one the Capitol gave him and his family, but it only lasts about a month.

It was a rainy day when this happened, I remember perfectly everything. That day I had put on the bread on the oven and when it was almost ready I look at him feeling sorry because I knew what had happened. At that moment I had an idea, I knew how to help him even though I knew what the consequences were. I let the bread burn because no one would buy them burned there were two breads, both burned, one more than the other one.

I guessed my mom smelled it because she came in furious.

"What'd you do" she screamed "What did you do Peeta, tell me"

"I-" I began

"Nobody buys burned bread" she started to get red

She grabbed me by the wrist and took me to the back porch of the bakery.

"Throw it to the pigs, come on what are you waiting for" she continued yelling

"Stupid kid" she murmured on her way in.

I break the first bread in half and throw it to the pigs and then the other half. I look at him and look back to make sure my mom didn't see. I looked at him one more time, he looked like he was dying of hunger and he was cold under the rain and toss the bread half way from where he was.

For a few seconds he remained motionless and when he saw the bread he crawled towards it and put in inside his shirt covering it from the rain as a precious jewel.

I go back to the bakery and my mom continues yelling.

I hope he remembers, not because I want him to thank me but just for unknown reasons.

I check the breads and their ready, I turn the oven off and I take out the first tray with read pot holders, then I take out the second one.

I can feel the heat as I glide my head over the bread sniffing them. The scent of freshly made breads is wonderful, I can smell it permanently, well after all im the baker's son.

My dad comes in.

"Umm, they smell divine" my dad sniffs

"I know" I giggle

"You have to get ready son" I can see the fear in his blue eyes.

"I know dad, ughh I hate the Reaping" I sigh

"Shh" he covers my mouth "They'll hear you and if they did, they'd kill you and us too"

I run upstairs and my dad follows me.

He had my clothes set up already.

There's a light blue shirt with a triangle neck and prisoner looking pants to match.

I can tell my dad is staring at me, and I bet he knows I know.

"I used it when I was about your age for the reaping, and that same year-" he sounded sad and I knew where he was going.

"Dad you don't have to" I knew it hurt him to continue.

"Well, what are you waiting for, put it on" his eyes were watery. I would be too if my parents died at my age.

When I'm done we stand in the broken mirror and he stands behind me.

"You look very handsome son" He looks glad "You very much like me when I was your age"

"The blonde hair, the blue eyes" I didn't let him finish "Everyone who knew you at my age says that"

There were a few minutes of silence, nothing to do or say.

My mom breaks the peaceful silence when she comes in my room.

"How do I look mom" I ask waiting for a polite answer which could never come from her.

I stare at her and she stares at me and then looks at my dad and back to me.

"We'd better be going we wouldn't want to be late" she turns around leading our way to the door.

My mom's right we WOULDN'T want to be late. If we were the guards would come looking for us and we'd have to give a long explanation why we didn't assist to the reaping.

We walk toward the Square, where the reaping is done, in silence. My mom wouldn't say a thing about the reaping. Neither did my dad knowing the consequences. I think the reaping system isn't fair at all; the poor get the worst of it. You are able to be elected the day you turn twelve. That year your name enters once, at thirteen, twice. And so on until you reach the age of eighteen, the final year of eligibility, when your name's been there seven times. That's true for every citizen in all twelve districts in the entire country of Panem.

There's always a trick to it, let's say you're poor and starving. You can opt to add you name more times in exchange for tesserae. Each tesserae is worth one year of grain and oil for one person. You may do this for every member of your family members as well. There are people that have done this for every one of their family members to survive.

After the reaping, everyone is supposed to "celebrate" with what they have because their kids have been spared from death for another year. But at least two families pull their shutters and lock to doors to find a way to overcome that their children are about to face their deaths at a very young age.

Attendance is obligatory unless you want to die. This evening, officials will come around and check to see if you went. If not, we'd a go to jail.

People are filing in silently and signing in. The reaping is the perfect opportunity for the Capitol to keep track of the population. Twelve- through eighteen-year-olds are placed by roped areas by ages, the oldest in the front and the youngest go back, due to the possibility of getting chosen. Family members line up around the perimeter, holding hands in hope that their loved one is not chosen. Some line up betting on who'll get chosen judged by their age.

I was lined in the bunch of sixteen year olds. We're all focusing on the stage in front of the justice building. I notice there are three chairs, a podium and a glass ball full of our names, some more repeated than others. I can see some people's name from where I am, they're written in a neat, almost perfect, handwriting.

On one chair is Margie's father, Mayor Undersee, who is tall, balding man, on the other is Effie Trinket with her weird looking paper white skin, and pinkish hair, and bright green outfit. But there's still an empty seat.

As the clock strikes two, the mayor steps up to the podium and begins to read. It's always the same thing. He tells us the story of Panem, the country that rose from the ashes of a place that used to be called North America. He tells the disasters that have happened, the droughts, the storms, the fire etc. The he talks about how the shining Capitol took over and made 13 districts. Also about the uprising of the thirteen districts and how twelve were defeated and the thirteenth was sent to oblivious. So that's how the Hunger Games came to be, is a way of threatening us to not go back to the Dark Days when the districts upraised.

Then he reads the list of Hunger Games victors, and in seventy-four years there's been only two and only one is alive, Haymitch Abernathy. He's a paunchy, middle-aged man, who at the moment appears shouting something stupid, tries not to fall to the floor or off the stage, and throws himself onto the third chair. He's inebriate. The crowd applauds, but he looks puzzled and tries to give Effie Trinket a hug, she doesn't try to get him off of her.

The mayor looks nerveless. After all this is being televised, right now District 12 is the "make me laugh" district of Panem. He tries to evade what's happening by catching our attention by introducing Effie Trinket.

Brilliant and sparkly like always, Effie Trinket walks towards the podium and gives her signature "Happy Hunger Games! And the odds may never be in your favor!" Her pink hair must be a wig because her curls have slightly moved off center since her clash with Haymitch. She talks about what an honor it is to be here, our representative, but everyone knows her willing and begging herself to be transferred to another district. A district where having a victor is common and not victors like Haymitch a drunk, embarrassing victor. She'd love to have a victor who doesn't embarrass her in front of the whole nation of Panem.

It's time for the drawing. Effie Trinket says as she always says "Who will be our lucky lady or gentle man" and walks towards the glass ball with everyone's names. There are thousands of names, and many are repeated many times, the odds are not on their favor. She reaches in; she circles her hand inside the ball with the names, and pulls out a slip of paper. The crowd takes a deep and collective breath. I'm scared to death, hoping it's not me, it's not me, and that it's not me.

Effie Trinket crosses back to the podium, smoothers the slip of paper, and reads the name aloud in a perfect capitol accent. And it's not me.

It's Rory Hawthorne.


	2. Chapter 2

By his name I'm assuming who he is, even though I've never spoken to who owns it, he's the brother of the boy I gave bread to, Gale Hawthorne. He's just twelve. He looks so innocent with his black hair falling like a waterfall over his forehead and his pail skin and big brown eyes. He doesn't look much like his brothers or sister. He looks the least like his brother Gale.

Somewhere far away, I can hear the crowd murmuring unhappily as they always do when a twelve-year-old gets chose, no one thinks is fair. His hands are clenched in fists at his sides, walking stiff, small steps up toward the stage, passing all of us.

"Rory" Gale cries out. He doesn't need to shove through the crowd. The other kids are making way immediately allowing him to walk in a straight to the stage.

Before he could get to his brother the guards block his way, but he fight's to get pass them.

"I volunteer" he gasps "I volunteer as tribute"

There's confusion on stage. District 12 hasn't had a volunteer in decades and the protocol became rusty. The rule is that once a tribute's name has been pulled from the glass ball, another eligible boy, if a boy is chosen, or girl, if a girl's be chosen he or she takes his or her place. In other districts volunteering is a great honor and so is the reaping, people are willing to risk their lives. But here in this district, District 12, where the word tribute is pretty much synonymous with the word corpse, volunteers are nothing else but extinct from history.

"Lovely!" says Effie Trinket

Rory is screaming hysterically behind Gale. He wrap's his arms around his brother like a vice. "No Gale! Don't! You can't go!"

"Rory let go" He says harshly "Let Go"

He turns around and Katniss has lifted Rory off the ground and he's trashing in his arms. "I've got 'im" she tries to keep steady and then takes him towards his mother. He steels himself and climbs the steps.

"Well, bravo!" Gushes Effie Trinket "That's the spirit of the Games! " She's pleased to finally have a district with a bit of action. "What's your name?"

"Gale Hawthorne" He swallows hard

"I'd bet my life that was your little brother. Don't want him to steal all the glory, do we?

_What glory_, I think_. You call glory getting thrown in an arena with twenty three more kids to kill each other to death_

"Come on, everybody! Let's give a big round of applause to our newest tribute!" Warbles Effie Trinket.

To the eternal credit of the people of District 12, not one person claps. Not even the one holding betting slips, the ones who are usually beyond caring. So instead of acknowledging the applause, he stands there unmoving while they take part in the boldest form of dissent they can manage, silence. This says, we do not agree, we do not condone. All of this is completely wrong.

"What an exciting day!" she quavers as she attempts to get back our attention "But more excitement to come! It's time to choose our other tribute!" clearly hoping to contain our tenuous excitement. She crosses to the glass ball containing the names and grabs the first slip she encounters. She zips back to the podium. I didn't have time to wish for my safety, I was too distracted by what Gale had done, and I bet everyone was, when she's reading the name. "Peeta Mellark"

Peeta Mellark.

The name bounced back and forth in my head, everyone looked at me. There's been some mistake, my name's been there only four times, Gale had more chances of getting chosen and he didn't. This is all wrong, no not me. The odds are on neither of our favor, now he has to fight against the boy that saved him from starving. Now, I have to fight against the boy that I saved from starving.

I was trying to exhale and inhale, I tried to remember how to breathe. My name was still stuck in my head as I walked towards the stage. I could feel all the eyes were on me. Yet I climb steadily onto the stage and take my place.

Effie Trinket asks for volunteers, but no one steps forward. I have two brothers, but one is too old to volunteer and my other brother is a wimp even though he's older than me but he won't volunteer. If my dad could I know he would've done it. I can see him being hold back by my mother and tears coming out of his eyes. That's when I came back to my feet.

_Why him?_ I think. The odds are in neither of our favor today. Not in his favor because I'm the boy that gave him bread, and he's the boy I have bread, I practically saved him from starving. Now, we'll have to kill each other to death in the arena.

_It doesn't matter_. I try to convince myself. Gale Hawthorne and I are not friends. Not even neighbors. Our only real interaction happened years ago. The day of the bread, but I bet he doesn't remember, but I always will….

To this day, I can never shake the connection between this boy, Gale Hawthorne, and the bread that gave him hope. And a couple of time, I have turned and looked at him in the school hallway and caught his eye trained on me, only quickly hover away. Maybe he thinks he owes me something, I hate when people owe me, unless is important, or when I owe people. Maybe if he'd had thank me by this point, I'd be feeling better, and he would too, if he remembers and if he feels like he owes me. Because we're going to be thrown in an arena to fight to death, it's going to be hard. How am I supposed to ask him if remembers about the bread, exactly.

The mayor finishes his monotonous Treaty of Treason and mention for Gale and me to shake hands. His are scratchy and warm, must be from hunting, but even though I can feel collateral of what he wants. Gale looks at me right in the eye, I can see that his eye are really gray, and gives me reassured squeeze. Maybe it's because is just a nervous spasm.

We turn back to face the crowd as the anthem of Panem plays.

_Oh, well,_ I think. _There'll be twenty-four of us. Odds are someone else will kill him before I do._

Of course, the odds have not been very dependable of late.

The moment the anthem ends, we are taken into custody. Not handcuffed or anything like it, but a group of Peacekeepers marches us through the front door of the Justice Building. Maybe tributes have tried to flee before. I've never seen it before though.

Once inside, I'm escorted to a room left alone. It's the fanciest place I've been in, with thick, deep carpets and a velvet couch and chairs. I know velvet because my mother has a dress with a collar made of the stuff. When I sit on the couch, it can't help running my fingers over the fabric repeatedly. It helps to calm me as I try to prepare for the next hour. The time earmarked for the tributes to say goodbye to their loved ones. I cannot afford to get upset, to leave this room with stilted eyes and a red nose. Crying is not an option. There will be more cameras at the train station.

My brothers and my mother come first. I reach out to Delver and Malzin they hug me, my arms their necks, head between them, just like I did when I was a toddler. My mother sits beside us and wraps her arms around us. For a few minutes, we say nothing. Then I start telling them all the things they must remember to do.

Malzin is not to take any tesserae. They can get by, if they're careful, on selling cakes, brads and cookie dough I left on the ovens this morning, before coming. Delver will get her the cookies, Malzin the breads, and my mom and dad the cakes but they must be very careful to make them because people are strict and want things how they want. And also to use the recipes I left on the counter on top of the oven with the breads.

When I am done with instructions about the recipes and baking, and working well and staying in school, I turn to Delver and grip his arm, hard. "Listen to me. Are you listening to me?" He nods, alarmed by my intensity. This is the first time I've ever spoken to him like this, but there's always a first time for everything, and this is it. I know he won't bear to live if something happens to me. He must know what's coming. "You can't leave," I say.

My brother's eyes find the floor. "I know. I won't"

"Well, you have to help it this time; you can't clock out and leave my mom, dad and Malzin by themselves, they'll need you more than ever if they lose me. It doesn't matter what happens, whatever you see on the screen. You have to promise me you'll fight through it!" My voice has risen to a shout. In it is all the anger.

"We'll be all right, Peeta," says Delver, clasping my face in his hands. "But you have to take care, too. You're strong and brave. Maybe you can win."

I can't win. Delver must know that in his heart. The competition will be far beyond my abilities. Kids from wealthier districts, where winning is a huge honor, who've been trained their whole lives for this. There are boys who are two to three times my size and girls who know twenty different ways to kill you with a knife. Oh, there'll be people like me, too, people to weed out before the real fun begins.

"Maybe," I say, because I can hardly tell my mother to carry on if I've already given up myself. Besides, it isn't in my nature to go down without a fight, even when things seem insuperable. "Then we'd be rich as Haymitch."

"I don't care if we're rich. I just want you to come home. You will try really, really try?" Delver sounds deep.

"Really, really try. I swear it," I say. And I know, because of prim, I'll have to.

And then the peacekeeper is at the door, signaling our time is up, and we're all hugging one another so hard it hurts and all I'm saying is "I love you. I love you." And they're saying it back and then the peacekeeper orders them out and the door closes. I grab one of the velvet pillows and throw it against the doors, releasing out my anger.

Someone else enters the room, and when I look up, I'm surprised to see it's the baker, my father. But we do know each other a lot and he knows how I feel. I just run and hug him like there's no tomorrow

Dad sits awkwardly on the edge of one of the plush chairs. He's big, broad-shouldered man with burn scars from years at the ovens. He pulls a white paper package from his jacket pocket and holds it out to me. I open it and find cookies. These are a luxury we can't get the cookies we make, it's forbidden.

"Thank you," I say. Today he has no words at all. "Thanks dad." He nods. "You know no one can know about this, right?" I ask. He shrugs as if it couldn't possibly matter.

I just run to him and hug him. "Dad, no matter what happens, no matter what you see on screen" I sob "You'll all be strong and get over it, promise you'll let go"

He nods, I look at him "I promise" he cries.

"Listen," he says. "Getting a knife should be pretty easy, but you've got to get your hands on a spear. That's your best chance."

"They don't always have spears," I say, thinking of the year there were only horrible spiked maces that the tributes had to bludgeon one another to death with.

"Then make one," says my dad. "Even a poor spear is better than nothing."

I have tried copying my father's spears, the one he has in case of an emergency. Although of years of watching him I end up with poor results. It's not that easy. Even he had to scrap his own work sometimes.

"I don't even know if there'll be wood to make them," I say. Another year, they tossed everybody into a landscape of nothing but boulders and sand and scruffy bushes. I particularly hated that year. Many contestants were bitten by venomous snakes or went insane from thirst.

"There's almost always some wood," he says.

"Yes, there's usually some," I say.

"Son, it's just like hunting. You have the best aiming, your good at that, use your weapon, your strong too," he looks into my eyes

"It's not just like hunting. They're armed. They think," I say.

"You know how to kill." He says

"Not people, not animals, all I've ever shot are dummies you've made" I say.

"How different can it be, really?" he says grimly..

The peacekeepers are back too soon and dad asks for more time, but they're taking him away and I start to panic. "Dad, I love you, get over what you see!" I cry out, clinging to his hand.

"I'll try! You know I will son, remember I —" he says, and they rip us apart and slam the door and I'll never know what it was he wanted me to remember.

My next guest is also unexpected. Madge walks straight to me. She is not weepy or shuffling, instead there's urgency about her tone that surprises me. "They let you wear one thing from your district in the arena. One thing to remind you of home, will you wear this?" She holds out the circular gold pin that was on her dress. I see it's a small bird in flight.

"It's your pin?" I say. Wearing a token from my district is about the last thing on my mind.

"Here, I'll put it on your shirt, all right?" Madge doesn't wait for an answer; she just leans in and fixes the bird to my top. "Promise you'll wear it into the arena, Peeta?" She asks. "You promise?"

"Yes," I say. Cookies, a pin, I'm getting all kinds of gifts today. Madge gives me one more. A kiss on the cheek then she's gone and I'm left thinking that maybe Madge really has been a friend all along.

The trip to the train station from the justice building is terse. I've never been in a car before, rarely even ridden in wagons. In the seam, we travel on foot.

Gale Hawthorne, on the other hand, has obviously been crying and interestingly enough does not seem to be trying to drape it up. I immediately wonder if this will be his strategy in the games, to appear weak and frightened, to reassure the other tributes that he is no competition at all, and then come out fighting. This worked very well for a girl, Yojana Maysen, from District 7 a few years back. She seemed like such a sniveling, cowardly fool that no one bothered about her until there were only a handful of contestants left. It turned out she could kill viciously, pretty clever, the way she played it.

The speed initially steals my breath away. Of course, I've never been on a train, as travel between the districts is forbidden except for officially sanctioned duties. For us, that's mainly transporting coal. But this is no ordinary coal train. It's one of the high-speed capitol models that average 250 mph. Our journey to the capitol will take less than a day. In school, they tell us the capitol was built in a place once called the Rockies. District 12 was in a region known is Appalachia. Even hundreds of years ago, they mined coal here, this why our miners have to dig so deep.

The tribute train is fancier than even the room in the justice building. We are each given our own chambers that have a bedroom, a dressing area, and a private bathroom with hot and cold running water. We don't have hot water at home, unless we boil it. There are drawers filled with fine clothes, and Effie Trinket tells me to do anything I want, wear anything I want, everything is at my disposal. Just be ready for supper in an hour. I peel off my father's blue shirt and pants and decide to take a hot shower. I've never had a shower before. It's like being in a summer rain, only warmer. I dress in a dark green shirt and pants. At the last minute, I remember Madge's little gold pin. For the first time, i get a good look at it. It's as if someone fashioned a small golden bird and then attached a ring around it. The bird is connected to the ring only by its wing tips. I suddenly recognize it. It's a mockingjay.

Effie Trinket comes to collect me for supper. I follow her through the narrow, rocking corridor into a dining room with polished paneled walls. There's a table where all the dishes are highly breakable. Gale sits waiting for us, the chair next to him empty.

"Where's Haymitch?" asks Effie trinket brightly.

"Last time I saw him, he said he was going to take a nap," says Peeta.

"Well, it's been an exhausting day," says Effie trinket. I think she's relieved by Haymitch's absence, and who can blame her?

The supper comes in courses. A thick carrot soup, green salad, lamb chops and mashed potatoes, cheese and fruit, a chocolate cake. Throughout the meal, Effie Trinket keeps reminding us to save space because there's more to come. But I'm stuffing myself because I've never had food like this, so good and so much, and because probably the best thing I can do between now and the games is put on a few pounds.

"At least, you two have decent manners," says Effie as we're finishing the main course. "The pair last year ate everything with their hands like a couple of savages. It completely upset my digestion."

The pair last year was two kids from the seam who'd never one day of their lives, could fill their bellies. And when they did have food, table manners were surely the last thing on their minds. Me, I'm a baker's son. I bet Gale's mother taught him, his brothers and sister table manners, so yes, he looks like he can handle a fork and knife. But Effie Trinket's comments so much I make a point of eating the rest of my meal with my fingers disturb me. Then I wipe my hands on the tablecloth. This makes her purse her lips tightly together. Now that the meal's over, I'm fighting to keep the food in my stomach. I can see Gale's looking a little green, too. Neither of our stomachs is used to such rich fare. But if I can hold down my dad's week old food concoction of cookies, and breads, I'm determined to hang on to this.

We go to another compartment to watch the recap of the reapings across Panem. They try to stagger them throughout the day so a person could conceivably watch the whole thing live, but only people in the capitol could really do that, since none of them have to attend reapings themselves. One by one, we see the other reapings, the names called, the volunteers stepping forward or, more often, not. We examine the faces of the kids who will be our competition. A few stand out in my mind. There's a monstrous boy who lunges forward to volunteer from district 2, a Fox-faced girl with sleek red hair from district 5, a boy with a crippled foot from district 10, and most hauntingly, a twelve-year-old girl from district 11. She has dark brown skin and eyes. Only when she mounts the stage and they ask for volunteers, all you can hear is the wind whistling through the decrepit buildings around her. There's no one willing to take her place. Last of all, they show district 12, Rory being called, Gale running forward to volunteer. My name's drawn, and I quietly take my place. We shake hands. They cut to the anthem again, and the program ends. Effie Trinket is disgruntled about the state her wig was in.

"You sure know how to make a good presentation, especially while televised." Effie unexpectedly laughs.

"He was drunk," says Gale. "He's drunk every year."

"Every day," I add. I can't help smirking a little. Effie trinket makes it sound like Haymitch just has somewhat rough manners that could be corrected with a few of her advices.

"Yes," hisses Effie Trinket. "How odd you two find it amusing. You know your mentor is your lifeline to the world in these games, the one who advises you, lines up your sponsors, and dictates the presentation of any gifts. Haymitch can well be the difference between your future and your end!"

Just then, Haymitch staggers into the compartment. "I miss supper?" He says in a dragged voice. Then he yields all over and falls in the mess.

"So laugh away!" says Effie Trinket. She hops in her pointy shoes around the pool of vomit and flees the room.


	3. Chapter 3

For a few moments, Gale and I take in the scene of our mentor trying to rise out of the slippery detestable stuff from his stomach. The reek of vomit and raw spirits almost brings my dinner up. We exchange a glance. Obviously Haymitch isn't much, but Effie Trinket is right about one thing, once we're in the arena he's all we've got. As if by some unspoken agreement, Gale and I each take one of Haymitch's arms and help him to his feet.

"I tripped?" Haymitch asks. "Reeks" He wipes his hand on his nose, smearing his face with vomit.

"Mind if we take you to your room?" asks Gale. "I mean, to clean you up a bit." He nods

We half-dragged Haymitch back to his compartment. Since we can't exactly set him down on the embroidered bedspread, we cart him into the bathtub and turn the shower on him. He didn't notice.

"It's okay," Gale says to me. "I'll take it from here; you go to your room and get some rest."

"No," I say. "I can stay here and help you."

"No," Gale insists.

"Look, whether you like it or not, im staying" I kneel down beside him.

I wouldn't feel right leaving him alone with Haymitch in this condition. I think it's nasty the way he looks. His face looks like he hasn't slept in days and like he just came out of the hospital, he looks sick, and this smell is making me want to be sick to. I can't stand it anymore. _No_, I think_, I said I would stay and im doing it_

"I think it was really brave what you did for you little brother you know" I say softly

"It… was nothing" his voice shook "I mean, wouldn't you do it if you were the older brother?"

I didn't know what to say, I don't know if my brothers wanted to do it but my parents stopped them, so now I have nothing to say.

"Yeah," I sounded like if I had no other choice, I couldn't say anything else, besides it was his moment

We finished giving Haymitch a bath and all his clothes we put it in a, metal laundry basket behind the door. Gale told me to get something from his room to put on him. I got a red bathrobe and we put it on him, then laid him under the covers and left the room.

"I'd like you to come to my room" I ask gently

"Why" He sounded puzzled

"I mean, I want to give you something" We stopped in front of my room "Wait here"

I gave him the cookies my father gave me in the justice building. He looked at them and them at me.

"Thank you" There it was, his voice was shaky again

"It's nothing, I eat this all the time" I tried to sound o.k. with it "I bet back home your siblings and mother would love them"

"Yeah, they would"

"Well, good night then" I close the door

I take a shower in the hot water from the pipes, it feels great. Besides, I have to take Haymitch's vomit from me. I see there is shampoo and conditioner in the square wooden box inside the bath. It's full of all type of medicines, crèmes, gels everything for personal hygiene. We don't have this back in District 12; we could never, ever think of affording this, soap is the limit. I get out and dry myself in a towel hanging from a pole. The towel is light blue with golden tribals on it with my name printed in the bottom. It's like an endless shower of cottons.

Everything here reminds me of home, anything I have here is nothing I have there. Imagining my home makes me ache with loneliness. This day has been endless. Could my brothers and I have been eating strawberries only this morning? It seems like a lifetime ago. Like a long dream that ropy into a nightmare. Maybe, if I go to sleep, I will wake up back in District 12, where I belong. Probably the drawers hold any number of clothes, but I just take off my shirt and pants and climb into bed in my underwear. The sheets are made of soft, silky fabric. A thick fluffy comforter gives immediate warmth. If I'm going to cry, now is the time to do it. By morning, I'll be able to wash the damage done by the tears from my face. But no tears come. I'm too tired or too numb to cry. The only thing I feel is a desire to be somewhere else.

Gray light is blurting through the curtains when the patter rouses me. I hear Effie's voice, calling me to rise. "Uppy up, it's going to be a giant day!" I force myself to imagine, for a second, what it could be like inside that creep of a woman's head. What thoughts fill her mornings? What does she dream? No clue hits me.

I put a green, V-neck, shirt and white pants. I rip off the pin from the clothes I had on yesterday and place it on the side of my heart. My fingers trace the circle around the little gold mockingjay and I think of the woods, the hunters, of my parents and brothers waking up, having to get on with things.

I grab a brush on bedside and stand in front of the mirror and begin to fix my hair. Is not too messy, but, I want to be the most presentable, in my opinion, we're not that far from the Capitol. I know that once we get there, my stylist will dictate my look for the opening ceremonies tonight anyway. As I enter the dining car, Effie passed by me with a cup of coffee. She's babbling filth under her breath. Haymitch, his face hollow and blushed from the foregoing day's indulgences, is blooming. Gale holds a roll and looks rather embarrassed.

"Sit! Sit down!" says Haymitch, patting my sit. The moment sit, I'm served an enormous pigeon of food. I have in front of me eggs, ham, piles of fried potatoes; a tureen of fruit sits in ice to keep it cooled. There's an elegant glass of orange juice. At least, I think its orange juice. I've only even tasted pan orange once, at New Year's when my father bought one as a special treat. Also a cup of coffee, my mother adores coffee, which we could almost never afford, but it only tastes bitter and thin to me. A rich brown cup of something I've never seen.

"It's called hot chocolate," says Gale. "It's good; you should try it, really." He feels his lips with his tongue

I take a sip of the hot, sweet, creamy liquid and a trembling runs through me. Even though the rest of the meal beckons, I put it aside until I've cleaned my cup. Then I stuff down every mouthful I can hold, which is a substantial amount, being careful to not overdo it on the richest stuff. One time, my mother told me that I always eat like I'll never see food again. When my stomach feels like it's about to pop out, I lean back and take in my breakfast companions. Gale is still eating, breaking off bits of roll and dipping them in hot chocolate. Haymitch hasn't paid much attention to his plate, but he's knocking back a glass of red juice that he keeps thinning with a clear liquid from a bottle. Judging by the fumes, it's some kind of spirit. I don't know Haymitch, but I've seen him often enough in the Hob, tossing handfuls of money on the counter of the woman who sells white liquor. He'll be incoherent by the time we reach the Capitol.

I realize I hatred Haymitch. No wonder the District 12 tributes never stand a chance. It isn't just that we've been underfed and lack training. Some of our tributes have still been strong enough to make a go of it. But we rarely get sponsors and he's a big part of the reason why. The rich people who back tributes — either because they're betting on them or simply for the bragging rights of picking a winner — expect someone classier than Haymitch to deal with.

"So, you're here to…," Gale stops before saying anything stupid. "To give us advice"

"Here's a good one" He looks at me "Stay alive," and then cracks up, I exchange a look with Gale before I remember I'm having nothing more to do with him. I'm surprised to see the hardness in his eyes.

"Hilarious," I says. Suddenly he lashes out at the glass in Haymitch's hand. It shatters on the floor, sending the blood red liquid running toward the back of the train. "It only seems to you."

Haymitch considers this a moment, then punches me in the jaw, knocking me from my chair. When I turn back to reach for the spirits, Gale drives his knife into the table between his hand and the bottle, barely missing his fingers. He braces myself to deflect his hit, but it doesn't come. Instead he sits back and squints at us.

"Well, what's this?" says Haymitch. "Did I actually get a pair of fighters this year?"

I rise from the floor and scoop up a handful of ice from under the fruit tureen. I start to raise it to the red mark on my jaw.

"No," says Haymitch, stopping me. "Let the bruise show. The audience will think you've mixed it up with another tribute before you've even made it to the arena."

"That's against the rules," Gale says.

"Only if they catch you, that bruise will say you fought, you weren't caught, even better," says Haymitch. He turns to Gale. "Can you hit anything with that knife besides a table?"

Gale yanks the knife out of the table; he gets a grip on the blade, and then throws it into the wall across the room.

"Stand over here. Both of you," says Haymitch, nodding to the middle of the room. We obey and he circles us, prodding us like animals at times, checking our muscles, examining our faces. "Well, you're not entirely hopeless. And once the stylists get hold of you, you'll be attractive enough."

Gale and I don't question this. The Hunger Games aren't a beauty contest, but the best-looking tributes always seem to pull sponsors.

"All right, I'll make a deal with you. You don't interfere with my drinking, and I'll stay sober enough to help you," says Haymitch. "But you have to do exactly what I say."

It's not much of a deal but still a giant step forward from ten minutes ago when we had no guide at all.

"Fine by me," says Gale.

"So help us you will," I say. "When we get to the arena, what's the best strategy at the Cornucopia for someone —?"

"One thing at a time, in a few minutes, we'll be pulling into the station. You'll be put in the hands of your stylists. You're not going to like what they do to you. But no matter what it is, don't resist," says Haymitch.

"But —" I begin.

"No buts. Don't resist," says Haymitch. He takes the bottle of spirits from the table and leaves the car. As the door swings shut behind him, the car goes dark. There are still a few lights inside, but outside it's as if night has fallen again. I realize we must be in the tunnel that runs up through the mountains into the Capitol. The mountains form a natural barrier between the Capitol and the eastern districts. It is almost impossible to enter from the east except through the tunnels. This geographical advantage was a major factor in the districts losing the war that led to my being a tribute today. Since the rebels had to scale the mountains, they were easy targets for the Capitol's air forces.

Gale Hawthorne and I stand in silence as the train speeds along. The tunnel goes on and on and I think of the tons of rock separating me from the sky, and Gale's chest tightens. He must hate being encased in stone this way. It must remind him of the mines and his father, trapped, unable to reach sunlight, buried forever in the darkness. The train finally begins to slow and suddenly bright light floods the compartment. We can't help it. Both Gale and I run to the window to see what we've only seen on television, the Capitol, the ruling city of Panem. The cameras haven't lied about its grandeur. If anything, they have not quite captured the magnificence of the glistening buildings in a rainbow of hues that tower into the air, the shiny cars that roll down the wide paved streets, the oddly dressed people with bizarre hair and painted faces that have never missed a meal. All the colors seem artificial, the pinks too deep, the greens too bright, the yellows painful to the eyes, like the flat round disks of hard candy we can never afford to buy at the tiny sweet shop in District 12.

The people begin to point at us eagerly as they recognize a tribute train rolling into the city. Gale steps away from the window, sickened by their excitement, knowing they can't wait to watch us die. But I hold my ground, actually waving and smiling at the gawking crowd. I only stop when the train pulls into the station, blocking us from their view. I see Gale staring at me and I shrug. "Who knows?" I say. "One of them may be rich."

He have misjudges me. I think of my actions since the reaping began, the friendly squeeze of my hand, me giving him the cookies . . . did all this seem like a plan? Me, trying to help him clean Haymitch, not wanting him to do it all alone, and now the waving at the window. All of the pieces are still fitting together, but I sense this looks what it's not. Like I haven't accepted my death yet, like im already fighting hard to stay alive, which also means that kind Peeta Mellark, the boy who gave him the bread, is fighting hard to kill him.


	4. Chapter 4

_R-i-i-i-p! _I grit my teeth as Bloom, a woman with Persian Rose hair and silver tattoos out of the end of her eyes, yanks a strip of Fabric from my leg tearing out the hair beneath it. "Pardon me!" she pipes in her silly Capitol accent. "You're just hairy!"

Why do these people speak in such a pitch? Why do their jaws barely open when speak? Why do the ends of their sentences go up as if they're asking a question? Odd vowels, clipped words, and always a hiss on the letter _s . . . _no wonder it's impossible not to mimic them.

Bloom makes what's supposed to be a sympathetic face.

"Good news, though. This is the last one. While you're in the Arena you won't be able to grow hair for at least three weeks, this is a special wax. Ready?" I get a grip on the edges of the table I'm seated on and nod. The final swathe of my leg hair is uprooted in a painful jerk. I've been in the Remake Center for more than three hours and I still haven't met my stylist. Apparently he has no interest in seeing me until Bloom and the other members of my prep team have addressed some obvious problems. This has included scrubbing down my body with a gritty loam that has removed not only dirt but at least three layers of skin, turning my nails into uniform shapes, and primarily, ridding my body of hair. My legs, arms, torso, underarms, and in between my eyebrows, they all have been waxed off. I detest it. My skin feels sore and tingling and intensely vulnerable. But I have kept my side of the bargain with Haymitch, and no objection has crossed my lips.

"You're doing very well," says some guy named Anatolius. He has this long spiky hair in waves the starts yellow on the top and fades red on the bottom, which seems to represent fire, to go with it fiery red lipstick. He's eyes are blood red, and nails that have a fire design with a black background, in a dark night he'd scare the life out of anyone. He seems to have, this, sick obsession with fire. "There is only one thing we can't tolerate, and that is whining. Grease him down!"

Bloom and Apogee, a man who has corkscrewed lavender hair with touches of golden highlights at the tip of his hair, tell me what they'll be doing to get me ready for when I meet my stylist. Then they pull me from the table, removing the thin robe I've been allowed to wear off and on. I stand there, completely naked, as the three circle me, wielding tweezers to remove any last bits of hair. I know I should be embarrassed, but they're so unlike people that I'm no more self-conscious than if a trio of oddly colored birds were pecking around my feet.

The three steps back and admire their work. "Excellent! You almost look like a human being now!" says Anatolius, and they all laugh.

I force my lips up into a smile to show how grateful I am.

"Thanks," I say kindly. "Back home, we don't have any reason to look this good."

This wins them over completely. "Of course, you don't" says Apogee clasping her hands together in distress for me.

"No worries," says Bloom. "By the time Cosmo is through with you, you're going to be absolutely hot!"

"We promise! You know, now that we've gotten rid of all the hair and filth, you're not horrible at all!" says Anatolius encouragingly. "Let's call Cosmo!"

They dart out of the room. It's hard to hate my prep team. They're such total idiots. And yet, in an odd way, I know they're sincerely trying to help me.

I look around and decide to pick up my robe. But I know once my stylist, Cosmo, comes in, he'd tell me to take it off. I sit on the table with my feet hanging and swinging back and forth. I slide my fingers between my hair. My father, I left the clothes he gave me for the reaping on the train, now, I think I'll never retrieve them, I wish I had it with me, it would make me feel like dad's close.

The door opens and a young man who must be Cosmo enters. I'm taken aback by how normal he looks. Most of the stylists they interview on television are so dyed, stenciled, and surgically altered they're grotesque. But Cosmo's close cropped hair appears to be its natural shade of blond. He's in a simple yellow shirt and light pants. And he has rare Fern green eyes. He has pale skin, with blushing cheeks and perfectly natural pink lips to match. And, despite my disgust with the Capitol and their hideous fashions, I can't help he can pass for someone at least from district one. People there practically have those looks.

"Hello, Peeta. I'm Cosmo, your stylist," he says in a quiet voice

"Hello," I venture cautiously, and force a little smile.

"Please, take your robe off" he says, I do so, but, I can't help blushing

"No worry, that is what I'm here for" he pads my shoulder "Just give me a moment, all right?" he asks. He walks around my naked body, not touching me, but taking in every inch of it with his eyes.

"Aren't you new?" I ask "I mean I haven't seen you here before". Most of the stylists are familiar, constants in the ever changing pool of tributes. Some have been around my whole life.

"Yes, this is my first year," says Cosmo.

"So here for District twelve huh?" I say. Newcomers generally end up with the least desirable district.

"I asked for District Twelve," he says without further explanation. "Why don't you put on your robe and we'll have a chat."

I look up and find Cosmo's eyes trained on mine. "How despicable we must seem to you," he says. Has he seen this in my face or somehow read my thoughts? "No matter," says Cosmo. "So, Peeta, about your costume for the opening ceremonies, my partner, Anastatious, is the stylist for your fellow tribute, Gale. And our current thought is to dress you in complementary costumes," says Cosmo. "As you know, it's customary to reflect the flavor of the district."

For the opening ceremonies, you're supposed to wear something that suggests your district's principal industry, District 11, agriculture, District 4, fishing and District 3, factories. This means that coming from District 12, Gale and I will be in some kind of coal miner's getup. Since the baggy miner's jumpsuits are not particularly becoming, our tributes usually end up in skimpy outfits and hats with headlamps. One year, our tributes were stark naked and covered in black powder to represent coal dust. It's always dreadful and does nothing to win favor with the crowd. I prepare myself for the worst.

"So, coalmining outfits, right?" I ask

"Not exactly, you see, Anastatious and I think that coal miner thing's very overdone. No one will remember you in that. And we both see it as our job to make the District Twelve tributes unforgettable," says Cosmo. "So rather than focus on the coal mining itself, we're going to focus on the coal," says Cosmo. _Naked, _I think. "And what do we do with coal? We burn it," says Cosmo.

"You're not afraid of fire, are you, Peeta?" He sees my expression and grins. A few hours later, I am dressed in what will either be the most sensational or the deadliest costume in the opening ceremonies with a flared collar and tall black leather boots up to my knees. And shiny black jacket with a pair of tight black jeans. And my hair is back in waves, held by a watery gel Cosmo put in my hair. Cosmo plans to light them on fire just before our chariot rolls into the streets.

"It's not real flame, of course, just a little synthetic fire Anastatious and I came up with. You'll be perfectly safe," he says. But I'm not convinced I won't be perfectly barbecued by the time we reach the city's center.

Despite this morning's revelation about Gale's character, I'm actually relieved when he shows up, dressed in an identical costume. His stylist, Anastatious, and his team accompany him in, and everyone is absolutely giddy with excitement over what a splash we'll make. Except Cosmo, he just seems a bit weary as he accepts congratulations.

We're whisked down to the bottom level of the Remake Center, which is essentially a gigantic stable. The opening ceremonies are about to start. Pairs of tributes are being loaded into chariots pulled by teams of four horses. Ours are coal black. The animals are so well trained, no one even needs to guide their reins. Cosmo and Anastatious direct us into the chariot and carefully arrange our body positions, the drape of our capes, before moving off to consult with each other.

"Noticed?" He asks

"What" I don't think there's anything I should notice, do I, I don't know. But what he says next is true.

"We're the only district besides four that has two tributes of the same gender" he says without opening his mouth much. "Four has two girls, and us twelve, two boys, weird huh?" Now that he mentions it, yeah, it is. Last year Twelve had opposite genders, no district had two boys or two girls, one and one. This is the first time in Seventy-Five-Years of Hunger Games that this happens.

"Yeah," I say like I didn't pay much attention or that I don't care "How's your stylist?"

"Who, Anastatious" he seemed distracted "Nice, he looks nice, and yours, what's his name, Cosmo, I think"

"Real" I meant by the way he looks

And suddenly we're both laughing. I guess we're both so nervous about the Games and more pressingly, petrified of being turned into human torches, we're not acting sensibly. The opening music begins. It's easy to hear, blasted around the Capitol. Massive doors slide open revealing the crowd lined streets. The ride lasts about twenty minutes and ends up at the City Circle, where they will welcome us, play the anthem, and escort us into the Training Center, which will be our home/prison until the Games begin.

The tributes from District 1 ride out in a chariot pulled by snow-white horses. They look so beautiful, spray-painted silver, in tasteful tunics glittering with jewels. District 1 makes luxury items for the Capitol. You can hear the roar of the crowd. They are always favorites.

District 2 gets into position to follow them. In no time at all, we are approaching the door and I can see that between the overcast sky and evening hour the light is turning gray. The tributes from District 11 are just rolling out when Cosmo appears with a lighted torch. "Here we go then," he says, and before we can react he sets our capes on fire. I gasp, waiting for the heat, but there is only a faint tickling sensation. Cosmo climbs up before us and ignites our headdresses. He lets out a sign of relief. "It works." Then he gently tucks a hand under my chin. "Remember, heads high, and big smiles. They're going to love you!"

Cosmo jumps off the chariot and has one last idea. He shouts something up at us, but the music drowns him out. He shouts again and gestures.

"What's he saying?" I ask Gale. For the first time, I look at him and realize that ablaze with the fake flames, he looks great. And I must be, too.

"I think he said for us to hold hands," says Peeta. He grabs my right hand in his left, and we look to Cosmo for confirmation. He nods and gives a thumbs-up, and that's the last thing I see before we enter the city.

The crowd's initial alarm at our appearance quickly changes to cheers and shouts of "District Twelve!" Every head is turned our way, pulling the focus from the three chariots ahead of us. At first, I'm frozen, but then I catch sight of us on a large television screen and am floored by how breathtaking we look. In the deepening twilight, the firelight illuminates our faces. We seem to be leaving a trail of fire off the flowing capes. Cosmo was right about the minimal makeup, we both look more attractive but utterly recognizable. _Remember, heads high, and big smiles. They're going to love you! _I hear Cosmo's voice in my head. I lift my chin a bit higher, put on my most winning smile, and wave with my free hand. I'm glad now I have Gale to clutch for balance, he is so steady, solid as a rock. As I gain confidence, I actually blow a few kisses to the crowd. The people of the Capitol are going nuts, showering us with flowers, shouting our names, our first names, which they have bothered to find on the program. The pounding music, the cheers, the admiration work their way into my blood, and I can't suppress my excitement. Cosmo has given me a great advantage. No one will forget me. Not my look, not my name, Peeta. I feel a flicker of hope rising up in me. Surely, there must be one sponsor willing to take me on! And with a little extra help, some food, the right weapon, why should I count myself out of the Games?

"Peeta, Peeta!" I can hear my name being called from all sides. Everyone wants my kisses.

It's not until we enter the City Circle that I realize I must have completely stopped the circulation in Gale's hand. That's how tightly I've been holding it. I look down at our linked fingers as I loosen my grasp, but he regains his grip on me. "No, don't let go of me," he says. The firelight flickers off his gray eyes. "Please. I might fall out of this thing."

"Okay," I say. So I keep holding on, but I can't help feeling strange about the way Cosmo has linked us together. It's not really fair to present us as a team and then lock us into the arena to kill each other.

The twelve chariots fill the loop of the City Circle. On the buildings that surround the Circle, every window is packed with the most prestigious citizens of the Capitol. Our horses pull our chariot right up to President Mow's mansion, and we come to a halt. The music ends with a flourish. The president, a small, thin man with paper-white hair, gives the official welcome from a balcony above us. It is traditional to cut away to the faces of the tributes during the speech. But I can see on the screen that we are getting way more than our share of airtime. The darker it becomes, the more difficult it is to take your eyes off our flickering. When the national anthem plays, they do make an effort to do a quick cut around to each pair of tributes, but the camera holds on the District 12 chariot as it parades around the circle one final time and disappears into the Training Center. The doors have only just shut behind us when we're engulfed by the prep teams, who are nearly unintelligible as they babble out praise. As I glance around, I notice a lot of the other tributes are shooting us dirty looks, which confirms what I've suspected, we've literally outshone them all. Then Cosmo and Anastatious are there, helping us down from the chariot, carefully removing our flaming capes and headdresses. Anastatious extinguishes them with some kind of spray from a canister. I realize I'm still glued to Peeta and force my stiff fingers to open. We both massage our hands.

"Thanks for keeping hold of me. I was getting a little shaky there," says Gale.

"It didn't show," I tell him. "I'm sure they didn't notice anything. You should wear flames more often," I say. "They suit you." he gives me a smile that seems so genuinely sweet with just the right touch of shyness that unexpected warmth rushes through me.

A warning bell goes off in my head. _Don't be so stupid. Im is planning how to kill you, _I remind myself. _Im supposed to be luring him to make him an easy prey. The more likable I am, the more deadly_.

Now, what do I do?


	5. Chapter 5

The Training Center has a tower designed exclusively for the tributes and their teams. This will be our home until the actual Games begin. Each district has an entire floor. You simply step onto an elevator and press the number of your district. Easy enough to remember.

I've never ridden an elevator, although in District 12 there's one. But it's dark and creaky like a snail and smells of sour milk. The walls of this elevator are made of glass so that you can watch the people on the ground floor shrink to ants. It's exhilarating but I'm a little bit sick, heights aren't my thing, really.

Apparently, Effie Trinket's duties did not conclude at the station. She and Haymitch will be overseeing us right into the arena. In a way, that's a plus because at least she can be counted on to guide us everywhere on time whereas we haven't seen Haymitch since he agreed to help us on the train. Probably passed out somewhere. Effie , on the other hand, seems to be flying high. We're the first team she's ever chaperoned that made a splash at the opening ceremonies. She's complimentary about not just our costumes but how we conducted ourselves. And, to hear her tell it, Effie knows everyone who's anyone in the Capitol and has been talking us up all day, trying to win us sponsors.

"I've been very mysterious, though," she says, her eyes squint half shut. "Because, of course, Haymitch hasn't bothered to tell me your strategies. But I've done my best with what I had to work with. How Gale sacrificed himself for his sister. How you've both successfully struggled to overcome the barbarism of your district." That's the last we hear during the ride.

My quarters are larger than our entire house back home. They are plush, like the train car, but also have so many automatic gadgets that I'm sure I won't have time to press all the buttons. The shower alone has a panel with more than a hundred options you can choose regulating water temperature, pressure, soaps, shampoos, scents, oils, and massaging sponges. When you step out on a mat, heaters come on that blow-dry your body. Instead of struggling with the knots in my wet hair, I merely place my hand on a box that sends a current through my scalp, untangling, parting, and drying my hair almost instantly.

I program the closet for an outfit to my taste. The windows zoom in and out on parts of the city at my command. You need only whisper a type of food from a gigantic menu into a mouthpiece and it appears, hot and steamy, before you in less than a minute. I walk around the room eating roast squirrels and milk until there's a knock on the door. Effie's Gale and our stylists are standing out on a balcony that overlooks the Capitol when we enter the dining room. I'm glad to see the stylists, particularly after I hear that Haymitch will be joining us. A meal presided over by just Effie and Haymitch is bound to be a disaster. Besides, dinner isn't really about food, it's about planning out our strategies, and Cosmo and Anastatious have already proven how valuable they are.

A silent young man dressed in a white tunic offers us all stemmed glasses of wine. I think about turning it down, but I've never had wine, except the homemade stuff my mother uses for coughs, and when will I get a chance to try it again?

Haymitch shows up just as dinner is being served. It looks as if he's had his own stylist because he's clean and groomed and about as sober as I've ever seen him. He doesn't refuse the offer of wine, but when he starts in on his soup, I realize it's the first time I've ever seen him eat. Maybe he really will pull himself together long enough to help us Cosmo and Anastatious seem to have a civilizing effect on Haymitch and Effie. At least they're addressing each other decently. And they both have nothing but praise for our stylists' opening act.

I try to focus on the talk, which has turned to our interview costumes, when a girl sets a gorgeous-looking cake on the table and deftly lights it. It blazes up and then the flames flicker around the edges awhile until it finally goes out. I have a moment of doubt. "What makes it burn? Is it alcohol?"Gale says, looking up at the girl. "That's the last thing I wa — oh! I know you!"

The expression of terror that crosses her face only adds to my confusion and unease. She shakes her head in denial quickly and hurries away from the table.

When he looks back, the four adults are watching him like hawks.

"Don't be ridiculous, Gale. How could you possibly know an Avox?" snaps Effie. "The very thought."

"What's an Avox?" Gale asks.

"Someone who committed a crime. They cut her tongue so she can't speak," says Haymitch. "She's probably a traitor of some sort. Not likely you'd know her."

"And even if you did, you're not to speak to one of them unless it's to give an order," says Effie. "Of course, you don't really know her."

I snap my fingers. "Delly Cartwright, that's who it is. I kept thinking she looked familiar as well. Then I realized she's a dead ringer for Delly."

Delly Cartwright is a lumpy girl with yellowish hair who looks about as much like our server as a beetle does a butterfly. She may also be the friendliest person on the planet — she smiles constantly at everybody in school, even Katniss. I have never seen the girl with the red hair smile. But Gale jumps on my suggestion gratefully. "Of course, that's who I was thinking of. It must be the hair," I say.

"Something about the eyes, too," I say. Really, Delly and i used to draw animals on walls with rocks when we were little. We're very good friends, everyone knows her.

The energy at the table relaxes. "Oh, well. If that's all it is," says Cosmo. "And yes, the cake has spirits, but all the alcohol has burned off. I ordered it especially in honor of your fiery debut."

We eat the cake and move into a sitting room to watch the replay of the opening ceremonies that's being broadcast. A few of the other couples make a nice impression, but none of them can hold a candle to us. Even our own party lets out an "Ahh!" as they show us coming out of the Remake Center.

"Whose idea was the hand holding?" asks Haymitch

"Cosmo's," says Anatolius.

"Tomorrow morning is the first training session. Meet me for breakfast and I'll tell you exactly how I want you to play it," says Haymitch to Gale and I. "Now go get some sleep while the grown-ups talk."

Gale and I walk together down the corridor to our rooms. When we get to his door, I leans against the frame, not blocking his entrance exactly but insisting he pay attention to me. "So, Delly Cartwright. Imagine finding her lookalike here." He doesn't answer.

I pick up on his hesitation. "Have you been on the roof yet?" he shakes his head. "Cosmo showed me. You can practically see the whole city. The wind's a bit loud, though."

"Can we just go up?" he asks.

"Sure, come on," I say. He follows me to a flight of stairs that lead to the roof. There's a small dome-shaped room with a door to the outside. As we step into the cool, windy evening air, I catch my breath at the view.

We walk to a railing at the edge of the roof. I look straight down the side of the building to the street, which is buzzing with people. You can hear their cars, an occasional shout. In District 12, we'd all be thinking about bed right now.

"I wonder why they let us up here" Gale says "don't they worry that a tribute might decide to jump off and escape?"

"You can't" I say. I hold out his hand into seemingly empty space. There's a sharp zap and he jerks it back. "Some kind of electric field throws you back on the roof."

"Always worried about our safety," He says. Even though Cosmo has shown me the roof, I wonder if we're supposed to be up here now, so late and alone. I've never seen tributes on the Training Center roof before. But that doesn't mean we're not being taped. "Do you think they're watching us now?"

"Maybe," I say. "Come see the garden."

On the other side of the dome, they've built a garden with flower beds and potted trees. From the branches hang hundreds of wind chimes. Here in the garden, on this windy night, it's enough to drown out two people who are trying not to be heard. Peeta looks at me expectantly.

He examines a blossom. "We were hunting in the woods one day. Hidden, waiting for game," He whispers.

"You and your, Katniss, right?" I whisper back.

"Yeah. Suddenly all the birds stopped singing at once. Except one. As if it were giving a warning call. And then we saw her. I'm sure it was the same girl. A boy was with her. Their clothes were tattered. They had dark circles under their eyes from no sleep. They were running as if their lives depended on it," he says. "The hovercraft appeared out of nowhere," he continues. "I mean, one moment the sky was empty and the next it was there. It didn't make a sound, but they saw it. A net dropped down on the girl and carried her up, fast. They shot a spear through the boy. It was attached to a cable and they hauled him up as well. But I'm definite he was dead. We heard the girl scream once. The boy's name, I think. Then it was gone, the hovercraft. Vanished into thin air"

"Tragic, huh?" I ask

"Yeah, we never spoke about it, I never remembered about it until I saw her today" he says

"They were from here, weren't they?" I ask.

He nods. "They'd had that Capitol look about them. Both of them"

"Where do you suppose they were going?" he asks.

"I don't know," he says. District 12 is pretty much the end of the line. Beyond us, there's only wilderness. If you don't count the ruins of District 13 that still smolder from the toxic bombs. They show it on television occasionally, just to remind us.

"I'd leave here," I say honestly. Then I look around nervously. It was loud enough to hear above the chimes. "I'd go home now if they let me. But you have to admit, the food's prime."

"It's getting chilly. We better go in," says Gale. Inside the dome, it's warm and bright. His tone is conversational.

"Your friend Katniss. She's the one you always hang with in school, right?" I ask. Altough I know, I just want to keep talking.

"Yes. Do you know her?" He asks.

"Not really. My friends talk about her mysterious but sexy way of being, well, Katniss" we both giggle "I thought she was your girlfriend or something, you're always together," I say.

"No, we're just friends," He chuckles. His laugh and way of talking has been so friendly. "How about Madge, do you know her, I saw her come say good-bye to you?"

"Yes, we've had encounters once a while but our parents knew each other, my mom knew Madge's mom's twin sister. She went into the games about twenty-four years ago" I say, observing him carefully. "She gave me this" I take out the mockingjay pin. I didn't know I had it on me until I put my pants on. It was in my pocket the whole time.

Gale raises his eyebrows at the sight of the pin. He stares at it after is in his hands. "Wow. This is amazing"

He stares at it for a few seconds then tries giving it back to me. "No, don't worry about it" I say "I was going to give it to you. You know Madge more than I obviously do, so I thought you might want it"

He nods. He looks at it and then at me "Thanks"

I open the door to my room and turn back to him "It was nice. Tonight." I confess "See you in the morning then."

"See you," he says, pats my shoulder and walks off down the hall to his room.

When I open my door, the redheaded girl is collecting my things from when I left them on the floor before my shower. But I remember I'm not supposed to speak to her unless I'm giving her an order.

"Oh, sorry," I say. "Can you take them to Cosmo; I was supposed to give them to him. I'm sorry. Can you take them to him?"

She avoids my eyes, gives a small nod. I open the door for her and watch as she disappears into Gale's room.

I take off my shoes and climb under the covers in my clothes. Perhaps the girl doesn't even remember him.

I wonder if she'll enjoy watching him die.


	6. Chapter 6

**Guys, sorry I hadn't been able to post anything in a very long time. I've had problems with my computer so it was practically impossible. I was also busy almost all the time but here it is. As you may or may not know, im getting close to the night of the interviews and we all know Katniss' Capitol nickname "the girl on fire" she got this from the tribute parade, we also know that Peeta was there and he didn't get a nickname, so I am not planning on giving him one in my fan fiction, but Gale is getting his title. I don't want it to be "the boy on fire" it sounds too lame for a guy, so please leave your suggestions in the review section. Thank you and hope to see you soon. Hope you enjoy. **

Dawn is breaking through the windows. I drag myself out of bed and into the shower. I arbitrarily press buttons on the control board and end up hopping from foot to foot as alternating jets of icy cold and steaming hot water assault me.

When I'm dried and moisturized, I find an outfit has been left for me at the front of the closet. black pants, moss green shirt and leather shoes. I comb my hair the same as the reaping.

Haymitch didn't give us an exact time to meet for breakfast and no one has contacted me this morning, but I'm hungry so I head down to the dining room, hoping there will be food. I'm not disappointed. While the table is empty, a long board off to the side has been laid with at least twenty dishes. A young man, an Avox, stands at attention by the spread. I load a plate with bread, cheese rolls, and slices of oranges. As I overeat myself, I watch the sun rise over the Capitol.

Haymitch and Gale come in, bid me good morning, and fill their plates.

I'm nervous about the training. There will be three days in which all the tributes practice together. On the last afternoon, we'll each get a chance to perform in private before the Gamemakers. The thought of meeting the other tributes face-to-face makes me queasy.

When Haymitch has finished several platters of stew, he pushes back his plate with a sigh. He takes a flask from his pocket and takes a long pull on it and leans his elbows on the table. "So, let's get down to business. Training. First off, if you like, I'll coach you separately. Decide now."

"Why would you coach us separately?" Gale asks.

"Say if you had a secret skill you might not want the other to know about," says Haymitch.

Gale and I look at each other. "I don't have any secret skills," I say. "And I already know what yours is, right? I mean, I've eaten enough of your squirrels."

"You can coach us together," Gale tells Haymitch. I nod.

"All right, so give me some idea of what you can do," says Haymitch.

"I used to throw knives and homemade spears to a tree in our back yard" I explain "my father helped me, but I never became so good at it, though"

"Well, that's a bit of a head start my boy" says Haymitch "Gale?"

"Not really. But I can handle snares," He says. "Also my friend taught me a bit of archery."

"Are you any good?" asks Haymitch.

"I'm all right," He says.

"They're excellent, he and his friend, Katniss" I say. "My father buys their squirrels. He always comments on how the arrows never pierce the body. It's the same with the rabbits he sells the butcher."

"What about you? I've seen you in the market. You can lift hundred-pound bags of flour," I snap at him. "And throw knives and spears at your backyard tree." He looks at Haymitch "I swear"

"I'm pretty sure that I will have bags of flour to throw around to other tributes" I snap at him "And the knife and spear thing, like I said, I'm not good at it"

"He can wrestle," He tells Haymitch. "He came in second in our school competition last year"

"How many times have you seen someone wrestle someone to death?" I say in disgust.

"All you need is to come up with a knife, and you'll at least stand a chance. If I get jumped, I'm dead!" His voice is rising.

"Like you can't use a knife to kill someone" I snap again "Come on, even an arrow, you can stab some on to the death with one of your arrows or make a human-size trap"

"I don't know what you're trying to do here, either expose me or help me. But, get one thing straight" he says angrily "quit it"

He pushes his chair back and stands up "I'm going to my room" before he can leave Haymitch grabs his arm and tells him to sit down.

"Well then, Gale, there's no guarantee they'll be bows and arrows in the arena, but during your private session with the Gamemakers, show them anything you know. Until then, stay clear of archery. Are you any good at trapping?"

"Yeah, I'm best at that," Gale answers.

"That may be significant in terms of food," says Haymitch. "And Peeta, he's right, never underestimate strength in the arena. Very often, physical power tilts the advantage to a player. In the Training Center, they will have weights, but don't reveal how much you can lift in front of the other tributes. The plan's the same for both of you. You go to group training. Spend the time trying to learn something you don't know. Throw a spear. Swing a mace. Learn to tie a decent knot. Save showing what you're best at until your private sessions. Are we clear?" says Haymitch. Gale and I nod.

"One last thing. In public, I want you by each other's side every minute," says Haymitch. We both start to object, but Haymitch slams his hand on the table. "Every minute! It's not open for discussion! You agreed to do as I said! You will be together, you will appear amiable to each other. Now get out. Meet Effie at the elevator at ten for training."

Gale bites his lip and we stalk back to our room, apparently he makes sure I hear him slam the door.

It's almost ten. I clean my teeth and fix my hair again. I can feel the anxiety rising up again of meeting the tributes. By the time I meet Effie and Gale at the elevator, I catch Gale biting his nails. He stops at once after he sees me looking at him.

The actual training rooms are below ground level of our building. With these elevators, the ride is less than a minute. The doors open into an enormous gymnasium filled with various weapons and obstacle courses. Although it's not yet ten, we're the last ones to arrive. The other tributes are gathered in a tense circle. They each have a cloth square with their district number on it pinned to their shirts. While someone pins the number 12 on my back, I do a quick assessment. Gale and I are the only two dressed exact except my tones are a bit dimmer.

As soon as we join the circle, the head trainer, a tall, athletic woman named Atala steps up and begins to explain the training schedule. " Experts in each skill will remain at their stations. You'll be free to travel from area to area as you choose, per your mentor's instructions. Some of the stations teach survival skills, others fighting techniques. You are forbidden to engage in any combative exercise with another tribute. There are assistants on hand if you want to practice with a partner"

When Atala begins to read down the list of the skill stations, my eyes can't help flitting around to the other tributes. It's the first time we've been assembled, on level ground, in simple clothes. My heart sinks. Almost all of the boys and some of the girls are bigger than I am, even though many of the tributes have never been fed properly. You can see it in their bones, their skin, and the hollow look in their eyes.

The exceptions are the kids from the wealthier districts, the volunteers, the ones who have been fed and trained throughout their lives for this moment. The tributes from 1, 2, and 4 traditionally have this look about them. It's technically against the rules to train tributes before they reach the Capitol but it happens every year. In District 12, we call them the Career Tributes, or just the Careers. And like as not, the winner will be one of them.

When Atala releases us, they head straight for the deadliest-looking weapons in the gym and handle them with ease. Apparently Gale wants to leave because he automatically turns to go elsewhere but I grab his arm. I'm still beside him, per Haymitch's instructions. "Where would you like to start?" I ask.

"Let's do the axes, we're no good right?" he asks, I nod "We're bad so we might look a bit more vulnerable"

We do so. Turns out that the throwing axes aren't that heavy after all. They're a bit like throwing a spear but like a knife because it spins. After we do spears, I'm a bit better, but when I get too good I try to make myself weaker. Gale isn't so good what's so ever.

We've already been through most but archery or snares. "Let's go to archery" He says.

"What!" I snap "No! Haymitch said not to show off our skills"

"But if we make ourselves look like we're bad with any weapon we pick, that'll make us weaker" He explains. I don't reject to his statement since it makes sense. There's no one there. Archery takes a lot of attention and practice.

Gale has shot about five arrows and he's not that bad. Good enough to injure someone and if he's lucky kill someone. A girl, I think from 6, comes to this line. I elbow Gale when he's about to shoot. The arrow goes elsewhere in the dummy, making him a bad shot.

I take the bow from him and when he notices he doesn't reject. I shoot some, and I have no chance at using a bow and arrow. I don't have to fake it.

We move to traps. For Gale it turns out really easy, I try imitating his but with little success. We make a human sized trap that can leave any other tribute dangling upside-down from one leg. This takes us about twenty minutes. When we're done we've mostly mastered it and I have a new advantage on my side. I know a little about snares now. Thanks to Gale.

The next day we stand in the line of the gauntlets. The Gauntlets consists of ascending platforms that rise up to a landing. Tributes must jump from platform to platform to finish in the fastest time possible. There will be trainers swinging padded clubs at us. This is where mostly the Careers come, the weakest or shyest ones don't. But I think that under the give circumstances, no one can have time to be shy about anything. If you're weak try your best to show your not and learn something.

Rue, even though she's really little is better than many other tributes. This must be because she's a good tree climber, I've seen her and she's great. Her timing was less than like five other tributes bigger than her. We all watch her in amusement. Right now, she's not making herself look weak at all, she looks very agile.

I go before Gale. Although I'm tall, it's hard to reach, not the heights but the distance of one another. I only get hit once in the back. I was already on the second line when I see a trainer who is going to swing his club at me. I jump to the one behind and when I'm about to jump back the other trainer hits me with the club. After that I finish it.

Gale comes after me and not once does he get hit. He always stands tall and never crouches. If a club is swung at him, he jumps over it.

The girl from three is up next my hands sweat a little. She starts out the obstacle very well. Getting to the end of the first line, a trainer swings a padded club at her. She dodges and falls off one of the tallest gauntlets, like six feet high at least.

I walk to her to help her. Behind me, in front of the deadliest weapons are the Careers, watching everything. Glimmer, the girl from district 1, elbows her district partner and they all start laughing at her. Everyone is concerned and looking at her worried.

"Are you ok?" I ask. Her lip is bleeding and she looks vulnerable. She's only 13, the second youngest girl in the games after Rue.

"Yeah, just a small crack that's all" I help her stand up "I'll be fine, just need to wash it off. And thanks for the concern" She says nicely while her District partner comes to help her. After that, Atala blows the whistle for everyone to continue with their training. We all do so. The careers are laughing at her.

Breakfast and dinner are served on our floor, but at lunch the twenty-four of us eat in a dining room off the gymnasium. Food is arranged on carts around the room and you serve yourself. The Career Tributes tend to gather rowdily around one table, as if to prove their superiority, that they have no fear of one another and consider the rest of us beneath notice. Most of the other tributes sit alone. No one says a word to us. Gale and I eat together, and since Haymitch keeps dogging us about it, try to keep up a friendly conversation during the meals.

"I think we have a shadow" I say. The girl from district 3, Amber, I think. The one that fell off the gauntlets.

"Amber, right?" Gale asks

"District 3" I answer "that's her". As soon as we make eye contact she hides. The next two days we continue the same routine. Wake up, eat, rain, continue training and eat again. But the third day makes it special. Tonight we have our private session with the game makers. We will be called one by one and we will show them everything we can do. They will give us an overall score.

The District 12 tributes go last, off course. But I will be the last, it's depending on who was reaped first, some girls go before their male partner and vice versa. Amber goes after her partner. For District 4, the only district with two girls, the girl with the bronze skin and dark hair goes first; compared to her partner she truly looks like a Career.

"Gale Hawthorne" a voice of a woman says. Gale stands up and hesitates before walking. When he does I stop him.

"Gale" he looks back "shoot straight" he nods and continues. He walks in and I hear things falling and crashing, then there are blades and some sounds I don't recognize, but no one speaks now. There's a faint echo then I hear laughter. What happened? But then everything goes quiet and all I hear is Gale's words before he comes out.

"Thank you" he says "for your consideration" he storms out and he walks pass me and walks straight to the elevator at the end of the hall. When im called, I try to make up what Gale could've done since out of nowhere it was quieter than a tomb. The moment I glance at the Gamemakers I see it. There's an arrow stuck in the wall with an apple through it, also the bow and arrows are in the floor.

I walk over to the station where there are metallic medicine balls. Black with gray spikes and a handle. It's heavy at first but then I settle myself and get a good grip of it. And shoot it over my shoulder causing a great crash against a dummy which practically squishes. They're aren't very surprised although I heard a gasp or two when it happened.

They all seem to be paying attention the whole while. I throw spears, axe's and attempt at throwing knives. I don't pay attention to the swords since I've seen some tributes trying to handle it and the only one who has succeeded has been the boy from 2. Neither do I look at the maces but I see a curved knife, sickle-like. It's not heavy at all. I swing it at a dummy's neck and I only get it stuck. Some laugh as I try to get it out.

This kind of angers me and my cheeks somewhat burn, I hope they don't redden. I stop trying as an idea comes to mind. I go behind the dummy and pull it back with such strength that I break its legs. I lay it on the floor and snap its neck. I never thought of this but it will help me recuperate what I lost after getting the knife stuck.

"You may go Peeta Mellark" I turn when I hear someone speak "your training session with us is over" at first I can't spot who says that but then I do. A man with a dark beard in weird shape, he wears some type of black vest with a red undershirt. He must be the head Gamemaker, yes, Seneca Crane.

I am a little agitated and my breath shortens. I walk out in a sweating condition I hear someone speak but I can't really make out what he says. On my way to the elevator I try to make up what I heard. And then I put the words I heard together and complete the blank spaces. "_If he thinks all he can use is his strength, then that boy has no chance of winning_" then the elevator doors open.

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